


Static

by fab_fan



Series: Through the Years [10]
Category: Motherland: Fort Salem (TV)
Genre: 1960s, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1960s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Space, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Drama, Drama & Romance, F/F, Light Angst, Maybe - Freeform, NASA, Outer Space, Random & Short, Short, Sort Of, Space Flight, The Author Regrets Everything, cute moments, depends on how much you know your nasa history, witches in love, witches in space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:09:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29014887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fab_fan/pseuds/fab_fan
Summary: The sun would be up soon.A new dawn.A new day.One day closer to launch.One less day for her to execute a plan.The plan.
Relationships: Raelle Collar/Scylla Ramshorn
Series: Through the Years [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2065368
Comments: 10
Kudos: 45





	Static

Scylla quietly hung up the telephone. The coiled wire connecting the receiver to the base tangled slightly near the rotary dial as she flattened her palm against the receiver and thought over the fervently mumbled exchange she’d just had. She took a deep breath, concentrating on the feel of the air slowly expanding her lungs, holding it until the burn began to tickle her chest and throat, then, carefully, let the used air release from her nose. The pads of her fingers unconsciously pressed against her brow, a nervous tic she’d had since childhood, back when her mother and father would soothe away her troubles with laughter and love and an adoring sincerity that made her think of lighthouses and boats floating far out at sea. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, a thick lump forming in the pit of her stomach and needling its way up to lodge near the back of her mouth. She fought to keep her face neutral, to remain unaffected by the conversation, but she couldn’t. Not completely. Not anymore.

It was supposed to be easy.

A simple assignment.

The brunette scoffed to herself.

Simple.

Nothing about this was simple.

Not anymore. 

If it ever had been.

Pushing her fingertips harder into the ache forming in her head, she wet her lips and closed her eyes.

In the silence she could hear the distant crash of the ocean waves against the sandy beach. Could imagine the dark clear blue water rolling across the backs of her eyelids. Peaceful. Tranquil. Let the gentle white tipped sparkle replace the galaxy of stars that tried to appear when she closed her eyes tighter, lashes fluttering against her cheekbones.

She liked the stars once. Would stare up at them as her father drove through the night, her mother taking over the wheel after a few hours, both adults taking shifts driving and resting so they didn’t have to stop except for gas on their way to their next home. She would lean her head against the glass of the back door window and look up into the night sky. Spot the constellations from her books and wonder about their powers. Would look harder when she spotted Venus or Mars or even Jupiter flickering like the tiny beam of a distant lighthouse. 

The stars and planets held power. Stories and myths. Legends. Controlled the passage of time, of energy, of certain Work.

Space was not something to be trifled with but something to be respected. An aura unto itself.

Mentally shaking those thoughts away, Scylla forced herself to not think about her parents. She couldn’t think about them now.

The sun would be up soon.

A new dawn.

A new day.

One day closer to launch.

One less day for her to execute a plan.

The plan.

“Hey.”

Scylla’s hand trembled, and she bit her lower lip at the soft greeting that nestled around her soul like the warm pair of arms she had left earlier to make the phone call she’d just ended. A warm pair of arms she wished she never had to leave.

Her eyes slowly opened as she felt the other person watching her cautiously, curiously, lovingly, in the small office where her telephone sat on the cheap oak desk next to orderly stacked files and folders full of papers she had no real business possessing. Plans. Schematics. Manuals. Health records and military service histories. 

Just like she had no business being in love with the woman who was meant to be in her bed sleeping instead of standing there waiting for a reply.

Blinking away whatever fear and guilt glistened in her gaze, Scylla painted a small smile on her lips and turned around.

Leaning against the door jamb, shoulder tucked against the chipped wood in the military provided housing, was a sleep rumbled and dream warmed Raelle Collar. Blonde locks a mess and a sleepy haze still clinging to her baby blue eyes that twinkled with a love and affection that made Scylla’s heart feel heavy and her belly tighten, the other witch looked like a home the brunette never had. Shadows played across her face, streaks of grey mixing with the tanned skin turned dark from countless hours spent out in the sun, soaking in the rays as if she were back in the Cession, when she wasn’t locked away in an office or training room, studying and preparing for the inevitable.

Scylla wanted to go to her. Take her back to bed. Let Raelle take her back to bed. Forget about everything. The mission. The plan. The reason why both of them were there.

The fact that the Spree refused to extract them until the plan was seen through.

A plan and extraction Raelle knew nothing about.

An extraction Scylla all but begged for minutes earlier.

But, she also wanted to be left alone. To think. To figure it all out. To not worry her lover. Not let her know what was happening. Not let her know that she had unwittingly become a part of a game of chess the Spree and the army were playing unbeknownst to most of the world. 

What Scylla really wanted...was Raelle.

For the first time in her life, she didn’t care about the Cause. About rights. Freedom. Liberating her kind from the slavery of conscription. 

She cared about the way the pillow had left a crease on Raelle’s cheek.

She cared about not losing the woman who made her feel so many things. Safe. Happy. Loved.

“Hi,” Scylla croaked, her voice suddenly as dry as the sandy shore a few hundred yards away from her back door. She cleared her throat and pushed away any lingering emotions burning the back of her throat and causing her hands to tremble. “Did I wake you?”

Raelle stared at her for a moment, almost as if she were studying her through slowly awakening eyes. 

Scylla prayed that she didn’t notice the quiver of her chin or the darkness hinted at behind the facade.

Prayed Raelle didn’t discover who she was. Why she was there.

Why she first approached Raelle that day what felt like a lifetime ago but had only been a few months.

_Scylla marched confidently down the hallway, folders pressed neatly into the bag hooked over her shoulder. The leather tapped lightly against her leg as she strode past office doors and the scattered civilians holding small styrofoam cups of coffee and chatting amicably in their white button up shirts with starched collars and plain drab black ties. Her uniform earned her a few curious looks and a mixture of respectful nods and distrustful glares._

_She didn’t care._

_The civilians were not her priority. Not her mission._

_No._

_The three witches whose files she held securely in her bag were her mission._

_She kept the sneer to herself, but the burst of anger licked at her mind and scorched her tongue._

_Witches._

_Being used as guinea pigs. Test dummies._

_Sacrifices._

_Of course they would be._

_Of course the great Sarah Alder signed off on it._

_Civilians wanted to go to space. Send a man to the moon. Plant human feet on alien soil._

_Of course they would send witches first._

_If a witch died in space, who would care?_

_An acceptable sacrifice for human advancement._

_Civilian humans._

_Non-witches._

_And, Alder agreed. Made a big show of it. A mutually beneficial partnership between the military and civilian agencies. A way to show the country and the world that witches and civilians could work together. Work in harmony. That witches could be counted on to lead the way. The military protected civilians on land, sea, and sky. Would now also protect them beyond the stars. Would help the country and world advance, not through Work, but through technology. Through civilian means._

_Bullshit._

_It was all bullshit._

_Scylla slipped around the corner, her heels clacking against the linoleum floor._

_The Spree spotted the danger that Alder refused to acknowledge._

_That civilians were going to get witches killed in their idiotic experiments. Didn’t care about the witches assigned to the Program. Only cared about their results. Willingly cut corners for time and speed. Money. Corners that could cause more funerals. More loss. More devastation to families and friends that everyone refused to acknowledge because it was a witch who died. A noble death in service to their country. No matter how horrific it was. Who was left behind. Matrilines ended. Families without wives. Mothers. Sisters._

_Families torn apart needlessly. Cruelly._

_Her mission was simple, and one she gladly accepted._

_Sabotage the Program._

_Make sure no witch was sent to a certain death by civilian hands._

_If the army wouldn’t do it, the Spree would._

_Too many witches had died already._

_The press never published stories about the accidents. The failures._

_The countless witches who perished testing out new civilian aircraft. Machinery._

_The very test pilots who somehow survived these dangerous and deadly test flights were ushered into the new space program._

_If flying a scrap of metal barely held together with glue and duct tape while still in the earth’s sky didn’t kill you, didn’t end in a blaze of fire and mangled parts charred black as night, then you were lucky enough to be handpicked to be strapped to a rocket and sent off into the unknown._

_No._

_It was not going to happen._

_Enough witches died._

_It was enough._

_No more._

_No._

_More._

_Spotting the office she had been directed to, Scylla straightened her uniform jacket with a quick tug at the sleeves and hem, pulled the strap of her bag higher up her shoulder, and turned the brass knob of the nondescript door._

_The witch pushed it open to reveal a small room with a smattering of uncomfortable looking chairs, a small meeting table in the middle, and a large window overlooking the parking lot filled to the brim with government cars and older models of Fords and Chryslers the contractors drove in to work that day._

_Perched in the doorway, she scanned the small meeting space._

_Standing in the middle of the room by the table, almost at attention, was a tall regal looking brunette with dark brown eyes and an air of authority. Scylla recognized her immediately from the small official photo clipped to her folder._

_Cpt. Abigail Bellweather._

_Daughter of Gen. Petra Bellweather._

_Heir apparent to one of the wealthiest and most decorated High Atlantic families in the nation’s history._

_Blaster._

_Leader of the chosen unit._

_Next, her eyes spotted a willowy redhead nearly bouncing lightly in place near the window as she munched on apple slices and watched the vast array of cars._

_Cpt. Tally Craven._

_From a decent family line._

_Powerful knower._

_Granted a deferment from service but still enlisted._

_Well liked. Friendly. Advancing fast considering her lineage._

_Said to be coveted by Intelligence once her time with the Program was over._

_Allegedly a favorite of Alder’s._

_Scylla let her gaze trickle away._

_There should be one more._

_That’s when she saw her._

_Sitting in a chair near the corner. Heel dug into the edge of the chair and knee bent, arm resting on top and fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. She seemed almost to be ignoring the world. Alone in her thoughts. A frown in place and air of melancholic acceptance drifting around her small frame, blue uniform jacket rumpled and open to reveal a dull medal hanging forlornly against her black undershirt._

_Scylla felt her breath catch._

_Lt. Raelle Collar._

_Fixer._

_Cession born halfbreed._

_Matriline no one cared about. Inconsequential._

_Powerful._

_Questionable why she wasn’t assigned to Col. Wick back at Fort Salem right out of basic._

_As many demerits as commendations._

_Almost died once in a training accident._

_And the most beautiful woman Scylla had ever seen._

_As if feeling eyes on her, Raelle slowly lifted her head and looked over._

_Their eyes met._

_Scylla felt a stirring in her chest she’d never felt before._

“No,” Raelle finally answered after a moment. She pushed off from the door and ambled into the office Scylla used when she wasn’t at the Center. “You ok?”

Scylla nodded, offering her a grin “Of course.”

“Who was on the phone?”

“No one. Wrong number.”

A tiny crease formed between Raelle’s brows, “At two in the morning?”

Scylla shrugged, “Long night, I think.” She reached out and grasped Raelle’s hand, guiding her into her arms and brushing a tender kiss to her lips, “Doesn’t matter. What matters is you should be asleep.”

Raelle let her kiss her again before leaning back slightly to look into her eyes, “You sure you’re ok?”

“Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Scylla.”

“I’m fine, Raelle.” Scylla assured her. Or tried to. The tiny hitch in her voice gave her away.

It was all happening so fast now.

Where she was normally confident and assured in her role, now...now she was questioning everything. 

The plan.

The civilians.

The army.

What she could do. Should do.

She was afraid.

For the first time since she joined the Spree, she was truly afraid.

And, it wasn’t for herself.

It was for this woman.

Her girlfriend.

Her lover.

Her everything.

Raelle’s eyes dropped for a second and she nodded to herself at Scylla’s answer. Wetting her lips, she stared at their joined hands and swung them tenderly between their bodies, “It’s just a test tomorrow. Going through the motions.”

“Raelle…”

“I’ll be safe. Besides, you know Bellweather wouldn’t let anything happen on her watch. High and mighty would rather go on a date with Libba than have something go wrong on one of her missions. You should have seen her face when Libba got assigned to the backup crew.”

Scylla felt the air rattle in her chest as she inhaled sharply.

Tomorrow.

Or, rather, later that day.

“It’s more than a test run, Raelle.” Scylla intoned seriously. “It’s _the_ test run.”

Raelle tilted her head in acknowledgment.

“A full run through. Then, you launch next week.” Scylla’s grip tightened on the hand in hers, “This is the last test.”

The full dress rehearsal.

If this passed inspection, Raelle would be launched into space.

The first true step towards landing a human on the moon.

“It’ll be fine.”

“You don’t know that.”

A shrug, “Maybe not. But, if anything’s wrong, we’ll catch it now and fix it up.” She flashed her a playful grin, but there was a hint of something darker, something resigned, in the curve of her mouth, “I’m a fixer. Trust me.”

Scylla felt the resignation threaded in Raelle’s words, just as she felt the worry and anger creep into her belly and churn like a darkening storm in the pit of her stomach, “Not for this.”

Raelle shouldn’t even be doing something like this. 

She should be a medic. 

Working in an infirmary or training cadets in how to link and heal.

Not being blasted off into space.

Not being put in danger at every turn for something coveted by civilians. 

A fixer had nothing to do with flying planes or rockets. 

Raelle’s ability to heal, her compassion, her...innate need to help had no place in this.

But, the army wanted different specialties in their programs, and Raelle was assigned there out of basic. 

Three different specialities were being sent into orbit.

A way to see if one did better than the other.

A way to test witches even more.

A guinea pig for her kind and her gifted abilities. 

The grin dripped away at Scylla’s frown, and Raelle stepped closer, nothing between them except the cotton of their pajamas and the beating of their hearts. “I’ll come back. If anything goes wrong, we’ll abort. Stop. And...I know you’ll be there at Control. If anyone tries anything funny, you’ll stop ‘em. Hell, you and Anacostia could take on the whole place if you two wanted to.”

“You shouldn’t be doing this.” Scylla couldn’t bite back the words any longer. “This is wrong.”

“Scyl,”

“Witches are not test dummies for civilians. We’re not sacrifices. Slaves sent to slaughter.” Scylla snapped. “If civilians want to do this, they can do it. Send one of theirs. Not a witch. Not you.”

“Whoa. Hey.” Raelle wrapped her arms around Scylla’s waist, “Scylla.” Her hands slipped up to cup the brunette’s face.

Scylla grabbed her arms, hanging on tightly as their foreheads met gently, “Conscription isn’t enough? Now they have to use us, use you, when they’re too scared to do something themselves?” She grit her teeth, “There’s a higher chance of you dying than you coming back.”

“We can’t think like that. You know we can’t.”

“No,” Scylla shook her head. Raelle could die. Be killed by one little mistake. One small miscalculation. There had already been so many issues the civilians tried to brush under the rug. Haphazardly fixed again and again. “You know something’s wrong. Even Tally isn’t comfortable in the module. This is a garbage plan.”

Raelle sighed, and her thumbs rubbed delicately across Scylla’s cheeks, “I love you. But...Scylla...there’s no way out. Not for witches.” She’d been assigned to the Program. The only way out was an unlikely transfer that would still see her in uniform somewhere else, most likely with a shameful notation on her record and a first class ticket to the front lines, or enough successful missions that she was honored with retirement.

Or death.

For most witches, it ended one way, and one way only.

For Collars, it always ended one way.

Her mother was a testament to that.

Scylla squeezed her forearms, thumb and fingers digging into Raelle’s skin, “I know a way.”

They could leave that night.

Make it to a dodger or Spree safehouse by sunset. 

Never look back.

They could be happy.

Together.

Far away from the fighting. From the danger. The death and destruction.

They could be free. Free as witches could be.

Raelle shifted on her feet, her touch stilling.

Scylla looked into her eyes. “Please,” she watched the way the blue lightened and darkened like the morning sky, “we could go to the beach. A different one. Where it’s not so hot. Just us. Could watch the boats sail by. Explore lighthouses and spend hours napping, relaxing.” 

“Leave our medals on the door?”

“We’ll telegram them our goodbyes.” 

Raelle exhaled wistfully, “It sounds magnificent.”

“We can go.” Scylla repeated, eyes glancing down at pale pink lips before once again meeting her girlfriend’s eyes, “I know a way out.”

The words hovered between them. A promise. A vow. A beg. A plea. Filled with an emotion Scylla had only recently allowed herself to acknowledge. That either of them had.

Love.

“I love you, Raelle. No matter what.” 

Raelle met her gaze, corners of her eyes flickering and jaw ticking.

In the silence, so much was spoken. So much unspoken.

Love. Fear. Hope. Dread. Need. Want. 

Futures were made and dashed. Dreams devised and demolished.

The sun was beginning to rise. The stars disappeared in the bright rays.

Scylla felt her eyes carefully drift closed as she unconsciously moved closer to the woman in her arms.

Lips drifted together. Slow, at first. Gentle. Barely a touch. A chaste brushing of familiar warm mouths.

One kiss. Two. Three.

Light. Heartfelt. Filled with such innocent love and pure vows it would make both weep if they thought about it.

The tip of Raelle’s nose nudged along Scylla’s as a puff of hot air teased the lines of Scylla’s lips. Scylla’s hands slipped down Raelle’s arms and over her shoulders to loop behind her neck. 

Their breaths mingled. Hot. Wanting.

Time stood still.

At that moment, it was only them. Two witches in love. Nothing else existed. Nothing else mattered.

Then, Raelle angled her head and Scylla pressed harder against her.

Lips fused and tongues dipped and swirled as their bodies fit together.

The familiar ache tugged low in Scylla’s belly and flames danced along her skin, a need and desire so intense and unrelenting all she could do was give into it.

Give into Raelle.

She stumbled backwards, dragging Raelle with her, until she hit the desk.

Not breaking the kiss, Raelle ducked down and lifted her till she was sitting on the edge, legs wrapping around the soldier’s slim waist and drawing her closer still.

Scylla’s hands thrust into Raelle’s mussed hair as the blonde’s fingertips dipped beneath the necro’s shirt and smoothed along the sliver of skin right above the waistband of her pajama pants.

Their lips broke away, gasps hovering between their reddened mouths.

Scylla looked into hazy longing eyes.

_Raelle stood before her, looking dashing and dapper in her full dress blues. A new pin shone proudly on her sash. A small circle with the image of the earth and the command module to be sent into orbit, the distant moon a glimmering reminder of where the Program ultimately wished to be. The foot tapping upbeat tempo of the song the band was playing filtered around them, twisting and spinning like the couples on the ballroom’s hardwood dance floor._

_Another event to show the alliance and cooperation between witch and civilian. An over extravagant party full of haughty officers and even more self-important civilians. A few of the witches from the Program were sent to represent the many nameless faceless soldiers being used as pawns in a political game._

_Including the Lt. standing in front of her._

_Holding out her hand with a teasing smile and quirked eyebrow, Raelle gave a tiny half bow and asked, “May I have this dance?”_

_Scylla rolled her eyes at the display, “You’ve had too much to drink.”_

_“Maybe, but I can still dance better than Byron, and ain’t nobody gonna hold you close like I will.” Raelle kept her hand out, steady and sure, “Let me have the last dance before I try to get you to take me home.”_

_“Sure of yourself, aren’t you?”_

_“As sure as I am that you kissed me two nights ago, and I haven’t thought of anything besides trying to get you to kiss me again.”_

_Scylla smirked._

_They’d done more than kiss._

_Raelle wiggled her hand, “Come on. I’ll even let you kick me out in the morning, again.”_

_Scylla glanced at the hand before looking back up at eager earnest blue eyes full of a care that made her head spin. The words spilled out before she could catch them with a sip of her martini, “What if I wanted you to stay?”_

_Raelle seemed to freeze for a heartbeat before melting into an adoring grin, “I make a mean cup of coffee and a decent plate of scrambled eggs.”_

_She shouldn’t._

_She knew she shouldn’t._

_This wasn’t the mission._

_But, she couldn’t say no to Raelle._

_She put her hand in the fixer’s and never looked back._

Hours later, Scylla stood inside the control room, back pressed to the far wall and eyes taking in all the civilians muttering into their headsets and making last minute notes and calculations with their pencils in the three rows of desks spread out from one end of the room to the other, monitors blinking and heads bent together conferring. She could hear the tiny crew of three from a nearby radio box, and she did her best to ignore when Raelle’s voice piped in with a “Check” or a comment as they went step by step through the entire launch process. She could see Anacostia Quartermaine out of the corner of her eye, arms crossed and face serious as she observed the goings on. Alder’s eyes and ears who turned out to actually care about the unit being locked away in a deathtrap. 

She didn’t let herself think about how Raelle was strapped in with Craven and Bellweather in a tiny conical craft so small they could barely fit in next to all the knobs and switches. That Raelle was in a suit no one knew would work or not once in space. In a ship that sat on enough explosive power to level Fort Salem.

That her life was in the hands of civilians.

No, she couldn’t focus on that.

She had to focus on the civilians. The room.

Focus on how she could stop the mission from continuing. 

How the Spree’s ultimate plan would work. She imagined each step in her mind. Witnessed the phantom movements. 

A subtle sabotage that could not be traced back to them. Not until they wanted it to. Long enough to get the witches out of there without suspicion or backlash. To safety.

To get Raelle to safety.

Her attention snapped to the present when she heard Bellweather’s irritated sigh, “This was supposed to be fixed.”

Scylla felt her stomach drop.

“We’re working on it.” one of the men in the second row of monitors replied. Anacostia walked up to him and bent over to look at what he was doing.

“How can we talk in space if we can’t talk down here?” Raelle’s voice grumbled.

“Radio is still not connecting to MSOB” Abigail spoke clearly.

MSOB

Manned Spacecraft Operations Building.

Where the soldiers had been suited up for the flight.

“Control, there’s a lot of flammable material still in here.” Tally’s voice came through.

“This shit was supposed to be taken out.” Raelle added. Her voice was rough with frustration, “My mic’s still stuck, too.”

“No one wants to hear shitbird’s voice nonstop.” Abigail commented.

Scylla could picture the eye roll that comment garnered.

“We’ve stopped countdown.” one of the civilians informed the crew.

“Again.” was heard mumbled from the spacecraft.

Scylla’s hold on her pencil and the file in her grip tightened.

Something was wrong.

This wasn’t the Spree.

She felt a cold sinister chill trickle down her spine.

This was wrong.

Something was very wrong.

She’d only ever felt this way once before.

This cold assured dread.

Her heart stopped.

It was when she was sixteen. Ducked behind the car in the dark damp garage attached to the small ranch style home halfway to the coast.A pitstop on their journey west. A small Cession town no one knew or heard of.

She had felt the certainty huddled beside the scuffed black tire.

Seconds before she heard the military police murder her parents.

“No,” she whispered to herself.

“Let’s go through the checklist again while we wait.” Abigail ordered.

“Been waiting for months.” Raelle muttered.

“Rae,” Tally’s calming voice piped in.

The line went quiet, only Raelle’s intermittent “Check” breaking through her microphone, stuck as an open line, while the others turned theirs off, most likely.

The restless dread didn’t disappear as the people in the control room milled about, talking to one another and writing things down.

It got worse. Grew. Froze her veins and caused her body to feel trapped in that one spot, feet unable to move.

That’s when she heard it.

The static from the radio blitzed loudly, screeching into her eardrums like a windstrike and causing everyone to whip their heads up in startled surprise. 

“Fire!” came garbled across the line, “There’s a fire!”

“Shit!”

“Someone try to…”

“Helmet is in the way…”

“Get us out!”

“Open the hatch!”

“Shit! Damn it! We’re burning…”

An inhuman cry echoed over the line.

Then.

Silence.

Nothing but scratchy buzzing static.

Scylla stood still as the room erupted in chaos, people yelling at each other, shouting into telephones, desperately calling out to the crew through their headsets. Anacostia rushed to the Flight Director who was barking at the engineers standing beside her, body calm except for the glimmer of terror in her brown eyes. 

Comms continued to speak into their microphones as others relayed that ground crews near the launchpad were trying to get to the module, “Cpt. Bellweather? Cpt. Craven?” Desperation lifted their voice, “Lt. Collar?”

There was no reply.

Nothing but static.

_Scylla watched Raelle pick her way up from the shoreline, ocean cold feet wobbly in the sticky slippery unstable sand, tiny golden grains kicking up behind her bare feet as her shoes dangled precariously from one hand. The light salty breeze ruffled her hair and bland grey regulation t-shirt dotted with droplets from when she got too close to a crashing wave. Her cheeks were sun-colored and eyes a lazy mellow blue that reminded Scylla of endless roads and freedom. The blonde grinned, a charming tilt of her lips, at her and picked up her loping pace. After a few hops she dropped down beside her and spun to face the ocean where the glittering pinks, yellows, and oranges of the setting sun blazed in the sky like a painter’s palette._

_Scylla watched the colorful display, the memory drifting up as a gentle arm slipped around her shoulders, “I went to the beach once, when I was younger. Labor-in-Pain. We watched the boats go by. Spent hours sitting like this, thinking about where they were going. What adventures they would have. The places they’d see. The ports. The cities. The world. There was a lighthouse, and...my parents were happy. We were happy.” She gulped, “I think that was the last time I was truly happy.” Her head turned to see Raelle watching her, solemn and attentive, “Until I met you.”_

_The corner of Raelle’s mouth flicked up, and her hand rubbed Scylla’s shoulder gently. The blonde tilted to press a soft kiss to the brunette’s forehead before leaning back to catch her eye, “I’m with you. Ok? No matter what. We’ll figure it out. You and me.”_

_You and me._

The static continued.

**Author's Note:**

> The story is based on the Apollo 1 mission. A tragic tale that doesn't get told as much as the likes of Apollo 13 or Challenger, but is still vitally important in the history and development of the United State's space program.
> 
> Alright, let me know your thoughts, pretty please. Good? Bad? Never do that again?
> 
> You know the drill. Cookies for comments. Cookies for kudos. Cookies for being awesome and reading.


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